


Tangible

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [185]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Post return, Retirement, bit angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 23:09:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6446002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>tangible:adjective: tan jə b(ə)l: perceptible by touch</p>
<p>late 16th century: from French, or from late Latin tangibilis, from tangere ‘to touch.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tangible

While he had been away, (the only way he could think about it now, years later) John would spend his time in the flat simply wandering around, touching his things; standing in his room, taking in deep breaths, trying to surround himself in tangible proof that he had existed.

In the days and weeks after he had returned, in his clinic, unrecognizable until he spoke, John found himself reaching out to touch him. Sometimes it was just to brush non-existent lint from his shoulder; other times, he was bold enough to actually grab his wrist to feel his pulse under his fingers. The first time, Sherlock jumped and looked at him a bit oddly until he remembered he was home with John, then he waited patiently until John let go.

"I'm here."

"I know...but there were times when I could close my eyes, then open them, and you'd be sitting there as you are now...I'd blink and you'd be gone."

"I'm sorr-"

John shook his head and went back to reading the paper.

Eventually, Sherlock knew when to expect the touches, almost holding his breath as it happened, until the day he was sure enough to reach out first, take John's fingers in his larger hand and bring them to his lips.

"I'm here, and I'm not leaving you again."

"Sher-"

"I'm here and I'm not leaving you ever again, because I love you."

John held his face in both hands and looked into his eyes, unblinking for a long moment, then nodded. "Good. Because I love you, too." John took Sherlock by the hand, and led him to bed, undressing him, then kissing each and every freckle, mole and scar, every muscle, which he could name but did not, until they were both silently weeping.

Even now, decades later, when Sherlock comes in smelling of honey and the wind and sunlight, he will sit down at the table across from John, and stretch out his hand, palm up, and wait for the two fingers to reach out for him. Then John clears his throat and rereads the last sentence twice or three times, and Sherlock rises from the table, ruffles John's hair and goes to take a shower.

"I love you, too."


End file.
